Hurt
by MJLS
Summary: John was left drawing the memories of a long forgotten past until Rogue decides to dig those up and make John remember


To think that John was actually an excellent drawer was unthinkable but it was true. John Allerdyce could spend hours just sitting at one of the many windows in the mansion with a sketchpad on his lap, a spare pencil stuck behind his ear and his hand flying over the white paper, drawing soft lines of pencil and erasing them when they went the wrong way. It was quite fascinating to see him draw in Rogue's opinion, so from the moment she actually knew about this hidden talent of her friend, she decided to just sit with him as he drew anything that came to mind. Flowers, some of the students, things out of his mind that he fantasized about, but most of all, he ended up drawing out all of his nightmares, his dreams and his desires. Rogue had seen some of the drawings; they scared her yet at the same time fascinated her. How could John, who was hell-bent on spreading chaos everywhere, draw such soft lines on the fragile paper and make it resemble a real person, or a scene that had flashed before his eyes somewhere during his rest.

"What do you think about? When you draw that is."

John didn't answer and just drew more charcoal lines on the white paper before erasing a few older ones. He was struggling with this drawing, it was clear as daylight. He was biting his bottom lip and occasionally ran his long delicate fingers through his now messed up blond hair. It was sort of adorable to see John focus so hard on one task, knowing that the mutant could hardly sit still and do so. Somehow, by watching John sit there at the window, the sun gleaming on his face and his eyes narrowed slightly to block out the intruding light, Rogue found her answer. He travelled, back to the past, to a moment in time that he was now desperately tried to catch on paper so it would never dare to escape from him again.

Seeing that a strand of his hair had fallen into his eyesight, Rogue leaned forward from her seat and placed the golden locks behind his ear, trying not to disturb him while doing so. Her fingertips brushed against his cheek briefly and then pulled back again, leaving a warm tingling feeling going all through John's absent mind. She stared at him as his hand stayed in one spot, the top of his pencil just inches above the paper and waiting to be able to go to work again and draw more lines on the white surface.

It should've been obvious to her to realize how much John hated people touching him but somehow, she didn't feel sorry for doing so. It had felt good to her to finally be able to reach out and actually feel the soft skin of John's cheeks. John sneered at the paper as a reaction to the touch and then just went back to the drawing, ignoring Rogue as well as he could.

Leaning forward, Rogue tried to take a peak of the work in progress but she could only see a worn down sketch of an old kitchen and a faceless woman lying down on the floor. Rogue frowned at it and then looked at John who remained as emotionless as a statue while adding more lines, thick and thin, hard and soft. It all mattered to the drawing, even those little spots that were coloured dark and supposed to resemble the shadows.

"John?"

John didn't respond to her calling his name and just kept drawing. To be quite honest, Rogue was getting worried, earlier that day she had seen the man in front of her draw some flowers from in the garden, claiming that he loved the way they smelled and how their red leaves and orange core reminded him of the beauty of fire. The beauty that Rogue hadn't seen near John ever since he returned to the mansion. She was sure he still had his power, because that silent brooding fire in the man's eyes was still burning, but somehow, he no longer required carrying around that cherished lighter, nor did he continue showing off his power like in the old days.

Maybe the silence that surrounded them now was a silent hint to her from him to just leave him alone, but she didn't budge from her spot as this thought reached her mind. She just kept staring at the man sitting in front of her. Those eyelashes covering those deep brown eyes, his calloused fingers trailing over the paper as he tried to perfect every little detail of his drawing. It had to be hard, just seeing something in your mind and then trying to put it on paper for everyone else to see.

"Your mother?" her soft voice broke the silence that lingered around them. The hallway was deserted as they were no longer students and therefore were no longer expected during classes. So they just spend their time sitting in the empty halls of the mansion, keeping each other company as the both of them let their thoughts race through their minds.

Nodding as to answer to her question, John just added more details to the still faceless woman, "I can't even remember her face," he whispered sadly as he added more detail to the woman's hands held in front of her as if she was protecting herself against something that wasn't there (or simply not drawn yet), "I spend 7 years of my life with her and I can't even remember her face."

Rogue placed her hand on John's free arm to not disturb the other one that continued drawing and squeezed it softly, knowing what he was talking about since she was adopted herself. Even though the situations were completely different from each other, somewhere, she knew how he felt and that was enough for her.

"What happened to her?"

"She was killed," John said softly as if it was not such a big deal anymore, at least not to him, "together with my step-father."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," he waved off, leaning against the hard wood behind him as support. Even though this story was wrecking up his peaceful mind, John kept drawing, his mask ever present on his hard and cold face. Not one emotion seeped through and let Rogue know how the man was really feeling.

"I lost my parents also when I was very small. The lady who raised me told me that I was only one year old at the time. They just couldn't take care of me," she smiled sadly, "what's funny is, though I don't remember them, I still miss them a lot sometimes. You ever get that feeling?"

"No."

Rogue frowned slightly and looked at John, trying to figure out what was going through the young man's mind at this moment. She wondered how many people knew about John's past and his parents. Then again, considering the fact that John barely opened his mouth (unless it was to crack a wise comment or insult someone), it wouldn't surprise her if she was one of the first people to know.

"How come?"

"Because."

"How old were you when they died?"

"I was about to turn eight."

"How did they die?"

"Both were burned to death," John said in an indifferent tone after a long pause, starting to draw a second figure standing over the woman in the drawing.

"That's awful."

How could this boy be so uncaring about his parents' death? Did they not take good care of him when they were still alive? Did he not love them or was it the other way around? Rogue was intrugued by John's emotionless and cold answers that she wanted to know more about mr. and mrs. Allerdyce.

"Not really."

"Did they ever find the guy who did that?"

"Yeah."

"What happened to him?"

"He was charged and sentenced to a correctional institution not far from here."

"And where is he now? Still in the institution?"

"No."

"Then where is he?" Rogue was confused at John's simple replies.

"You're looking at him."

Rogue's eyes widened at John's answer, she couldn't believe what he had just said. Had he really murdered his own parents? And if he did, why did he do it? Was there a specific reason for it or was it just because he lost control of his powers? Rogue's head swarmed with questions about John as she stared at him in disbelief. Instead of staring back, he was sitting there with the same concentration as before the confession, his drawing was apparently more important than her judgement or her thoughts about him. Rogue could slap him really hard right now, just because he was sitting there so cold and uncaring. These people he had murdered were his parents for god's sake, how could he just do that?

"You're joking right? John? You must be joking about this," Rogue shook her head at the realization of what had just reached her ears minutes ago.

"Death is no joking matter darling."

"But, why?" her voice was just audible, barely above the sound of a whisper and filled with sadness and disbelief. John sneered and stood up from his seat, clutching his sketch pad between his left arm and hip.

"I had my reasons," John answered, not moving from his spot again and just directing his eyes at the ground.

"Care to...tell me them?" Rogue pleaded, placing her hand on his arm and trying to make eye contact, however, failing miserably.

"Why Rogue, you're not going to tell me you're suddenly interested in a low-life nobody like me are you now?" John smirked, finally looking at her and the fire burning fiercly behind those pupils.

"I'm just trying to understand why a young you would do that."

"It was simple, he was hurting her and I wanted it all to stop," John shrugged, "it's not such a big deal anymore. The case is closed and buried for life."

"John," Rogue whispered, standing up and edging closer with her entire body, trying to get as close as she could to him until they were nearly pressed against each other.

"Why are you making such a big deal out of this Rogue? Why?"

"I'm curious John, because I know that you just don't have the eyes of a killer."

"Rogue, it doesn't matter anymore, it was a freak accident, I just got sick and tired of them always fighting and yelling so I just burned them to ashes, end of story. Now will you let go of my arm?"

Rogue, who hadn't even realized she was holding him, nodded slowly and watched John walk away from her, head held high and not once looking over his shoulder at her. Not daring to look back and stare in those sad eyes of the one woman he trusted.

* * *


End file.
